


what the hell would i be without you?

by killingboys



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27967745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingboys/pseuds/killingboys
Summary: Will is taken from Hannibal. He believes at first Will has left him and he’s angry. In the seeming betrayal, he carefully and undetected tears through the city they’ve made their home. Until receiving a note.Afterward in his heartbreak, he leaves behind an obvious myriad of bodies. It sparks Jack Crawford’s interest, which is exactly what Hannibal wanted.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 54





	1. it would have surprised neither of us to have found,

**Author's Note:**

> was in some hannigram feels when this idea came to me. hannibal is calculating, but the only thing to ever make him "lose" his composure is will. so this has been born
> 
> ! title from sick of losing soulmates by dodie !
> 
> chapter title from daisy johnson’s sisters
> 
> here’s my hannigram playlist i listened to while writing if u want to listen while reading !  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21CPljkbcls5J0u2Jac2Aj?si=NksqEe1QTiSpamz8qlgvHA

he says, _you are something awful_

_but i’m keeping you anyway_

does that make me your bad thing? your wild

thing? something worth hunting across the country?

—excerpt by 

**yves olade** , _when rome falls_

*

> _A SERIAL KILLER IN ARGENTINA? OR THE GHOST OF HANNIBAL LECTER?_
> 
> **_This deadly killer cuts the organs out of his victims while they’re still alive. Shockingly similar to the methods of the late Dr. Hannibal Lecter._ **
> 
> **_He’s been on a spree..._**

Jack has the newspaper slapped onto his desk first thing in the morning when arriving at Quantico. He scans through the front page, but what shocks him most is not the words on the page, but Alana Bloom standing in front of him. 

“Jack, it’s him,” Alana says with certainty in her voice. She doesn’t sound scared. Though she should, especially for someone who was promised death by his hand. Every second of her life is borrowed time. 

Jack doesn’t bother to argue to her that Hannibal Lecter is for all intents and purposes, dead. He and Alana both had feelings Hannibal survived, they were however unsure of Will’s survival.

“Then I guess I’m on my way to Argentina.” Alana nods, accepting this answer. 

“I’m coming too.” He doesn’t expect this. He thought she’d disappear; hide Margot and Morgan Verger somewhere Hannibal Lecter can never find them.

Jack nods. They leave in the morning.

*

Will wakes to darkness. The last thing he remembers is clouded; he recalls being at the farmers market in town picking up vegetables on the list Hannibal handed to him. Then nothing.

He can feel the rough burn of ropes around his wrists. There’s a sharp pain emanating from his skull like he had been struck. But all he can think about is Hannibal if he thinks Will left him. Disappeared without leaving a trace behind, rejecting him for the fourth time, after Will promised over and over he wouldn’t leave. After Will has attempted to right his wrongs.

His heart feels split open. Perhaps this time he’ll be the one giving Hannibal his heart.

“You’re awake.” 

Will looks up. He can’t quite make out the man hovering in the shadows. The face seems almost familiar, but the features are too hazy. They can't seem to come together and Will can't focus long enough to make out anything discernable. He most likely has a concussion.

He wishes for Hannibal by his side.

“We’re going to have fun together. You and I.”

Then he feels a knife slice deep into his thigh, without any warning. He bites back a scream, that's at the tip of his tongue.

*

Jack and Alana land in Buenos Aires, the air is warm and humid, not unlike Virginia in the summers. 

The policía greets them when they arrive. They show them the files of the victims over the last few days. They’re all gruesome, surgically ripped apart while still breathing, the only difference is the organs had all been left behind. Jack knows it’s Lecter, has no doubts about it. But something about this feels different. Desperate.

Desperation is a feeling he's sure Lecter has never experienced and he's unsure what would've caused it.

Alana is speaking in careful Spanish to the chief, explaining who they think has done this. Jack catches a few words here and there that he recognizes. The chief then turns to Jack and says in accented English, “This Hannibal Lecter… if he eats the organs of his victims, why are you so sure that it’s him? They are all left behind, perhaps it's a copycat.” 

Jack is prepared to answer when the doors to the station fling open. An officer stumbles in, a knife sticking out of his forearm, holds his fresh bleeding wound with one hand, and speaks directly to Jack, “I w-was told to deliver this to you.” In his other hand, he holds out a letter. 

_Jack Crawford._ The outside says in Lecter’s handwriting. Exactly as it did when he wrote to him after Bella died.

Around him the station bursts into life, scrambling to see if the suspect—Alana and he stare at each other, they know the truth—who stabbed their officer is still nearby, scrambling to get the officer medical attention. Jack knows better. Lecter is long gone and left the officer plenty alive for his own reasons. 

He opens the letter.

_My beloved Will has been taken. I am not permitted to have him back without your and Alana’s help._

_I’ll be at La Parroquia de la Inmaculada Concepción at 6pm. Don't be late._

*

Jack parks the car at 5:52 pm outside the church. It’s fitting Hannibal would pick another after the last time abroad.

The name translates to _Parish of Immaculate Conception_ in English. It’s fitting, he’s sure, for whatever Hannibal has coming and the name itself fits Hannibal's eccentric tastes.

He looks over at Alana. She’s hiding her emotions well, her hands are unmoving and her face reveals nothing. Though he knows she’s worried, not afraid, to see Lecter again. She voiced this to him after he told her of the letter.

He asked her how she isn’t afraid and she told him she refuses to be. _I won't let him dictate my life_ , she told him, _he wants me afraid._

Alana stares ahead. “Let’s get this over with.”

The church is closed for the night, seemingly under lock and key. Jack knows Lecter has his ways. As suspected when they reach the doors they are unlocked and Alana slips inside ahead of him. He follows after her.

*

“I had hoped you would remember me, Mr. Graham,” The man says. Will shudders, he’s met a lot of people who could hold a grudge against him. Whether during his time with the FBI or when he slowly drifted from them into Hannibal’s ever awaiting grasp.

Will doesn’t respond. He hasn’t decided the best course of action to take with this man. And the concussion is only making it harder for him to think.

“I want you to hurt. That will only happen by hurting _him_.” Will swallows. This man can’t possibly know of his intimacy with Hannibal. It’s something Will himself has only been recently aware of. 

Or is it? 

_But do you ache for him?_

He thinks, perhaps he always has.

*

Alana hesitates for a moment when she realizes the church is shrouded in darkness before she carries on. There are no lights on, save for a single candle on the altar.

There’s a figure sitting in a pew, head bowed. Alana continues forward, Jack at her back, his gun raised. Hannibal doesn’t look up when she approaches, his head stays buried in his hands. She assumes a seat in the pew across him.

Jack stays standing, gun pointed at him. “No sudden movements, Lecter.” Hannibal looks up then. His eyes are shining with unshed tears, something Alana has never seen before. He looks distraught and unkempt. Something she's sure Hannibal Lecter despises and even hates himself for. 

“Where’s Will?” Alana asks, a hint of bitterness in her voice. At the question, Hannibal’s eyes darken. He doesn't answer for what seems like hours. They sit and watch the candle burn. She's sure Hannibal has some fancy metaphor for it.

When he speaks, his voice does not waver. “Don’t insinuate that I hurt him, Dr. Bloom. I would surely rather be caged again than to hurt him.”

Alana almost scoffs. She’s seen Hannibal hurt Will time and time again. “So you didn’t take him? After the fight with Dolarhyde?”

Hannibal looks straight into her eyes. “No. I was fully prepared to be back in FBI custody.”

Alana puts the pieces together with what he's given to her. Will made the step to fall over the bluff. Not Hannibal. 

It takes Jack longer. “Will wouldn’t—”

Hannibal cuts Jack off, “I only contacted you because I am unable to get him back without your help.” She notices his stiff, closed-off posture at the suggestion of Will not having his agency.

Jack frowns. He's never liked being put in his place. “Now the big bad cannibal can’t do something alone?” 

Alana sees the irony in that statement. Ever since Will, Hannibal hasn’t wanted to do anything alone. _It's a courtship_ , she recalls her own words. The Chesapeake Ripper and Will, working in tandem. All he wants now is Will back.

Hannibal doesn't rise to the bait. “Ah, but it seems this kidnapper has a bone to pick with us all.”

*

Will dreams of Hannibal.

He vividly sees Hannibal tending to his knuckles after he killed Randall Tier. Remembering now, he sees the intimacy of that moment. How softly Hannibal held his hands, made sure to not apply too much pressure. Whoever has him now clearly saw what Will couldn’t ever quite see.

_Stay with me._

_Where else would I go?_

Will wades into the quiet of the stream. 

Will escapes into his memory palace where he’s sure to find more of Hannibal waiting.

*

Hannibal shows Alana and Jack the note from Will’s captor. It asks for Hannibal, Alana, and Jack and no other outside involvement, then:

_If only he hadn’t asked me._

Along with a picture of Will, not quite staring at the camera. Alana isn't sure if it's his aversion to eye contact or something else, something she doesn't want to think too much about. Will also is tied up but otherwise looks unhurt.

“What does that even mean?” Jack asks, anger bleeding through his voice. Alana notes that Jack still can’t help but care for Will, even though Will chose Hannibal. She seems to find herself having the same problem.

Hannibal answers calmly, “I assume we’ll have another note in due time. This kidnapper wanted you two here as well. It’s someone we all wronged or he thinks we wronged.”

“What’s he going to do with Will?”

Alana answers, “He wants to hurt him.” 

“And us?”

Hannibal says, anguish dripping through his voice, “He wants _me._ ” He pauses, looks to the candle, away from their gaze. He doesn't want to betray too much in his eyes. “He understands hurting me will hurt Will.”

 _And hurting Will hurts you_ , Alana thinks. It goes unspoken.

*

“Why should we help you?” Jack asks. It's what Alana has been thinking all along, she had these false hopes that perhaps he'd—

“I will break my promise,” Hannibal says looking directly at Alana. He knows Alana is aware of what this means. She finds her throat has gone dry. Her false hopes can be a reality. No more looking over her shoulder or hiding Morgan. She can live her life again.

“Okay,” She finds herself saying too quickly.

Jack whips his head towards her. “Really?” 

“I would like to live in one place, Jack.”

Hannibal almost smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He might be able to put on a convincing show for Jack but Alana knows the truth, he's being cut deep with every moment he knows Will to be in danger. “I thought you weren’t afraid, Alana.”

“I’m not.” She raises her chin, refuses to bend to him. “My wife and child are.”

“If you help me, they no longer will need to be.”

She wishes for nothing more, so she nods. Jack eventually agrees.


	2. slit open, that we shared organs,

But is it not sort of genius to cut always to the heart?

—excerpt by 

**madeline miller** , _the song of achilles_

  
  


*

After agreeing to help him, after knowing he’ll break his promise to kill Alana, Hannibal takes them back to his house. They follow Hannibal, in his not at all inconspicuous car, in the car Jack rented when they arrived at the airport.

The house is huge. It’s bordering on a mansion with a giant yard. It’s more or less an estate. The outside of the house reminiscent of a Victorian castle, it’s built of bricks and has beautiful vines crawling up the sides. How they managed to blend in here is beyond her.

When they walk in through the front door, several dogs greet them, whining. It’s something so Will Graham of before that Alana feels tears rise into her eyes. Hannibal pats each one on the head, tells the dogs in a soft, sad tone, “He’s still gone. I miss him too.” 

They probably weren’t meant to hear this show of vulnerability.

Jack gives her a disbelieving look. She almost is inclined to agree with his disbelief. But there’s something so domestic here that she can’t argue with. If Hannibal wasn’t truly okay with something he wouldn’t let it happen.

This house is also truly every bit Will’s as it is Hannibal’s. _It’s theirs_ , she reminds herself. Will is seen in every room. From his fishing gear in the mudroom to his favorite brand of whiskey on the kitchen counter. To his horrible habit of leaving unfinished projects laying around. As well as flannels and sweaters hanging on the backs of furniture.

Seeing the dogs greet Hannibal at the door had almost been enough for her to believe Hannibal has something resembling a heart. Then she sees the rest of the house, the space Will has made for himself here. Hannibal’s heart just seems to only beat for Will.

*

Hannibal makes a new promise to her and to Jack. That they’ll be safe under their—the unmistakable use of _their_ , Alana realizes, means Hannibal has every intention of getting Will back no matter the consequences, no matter who is hurt—roof, as long as they do not intend to harm him. 

“Or even the pesky dogs,” he adds, looking down to the one who hasn’t strayed from his side. It’s curious.

Jack and Alana are each shown to a guest room. Hannibal leaves them after giving them fresh blankets, venturing to a door at the end of the hall. His and Will’s room. The dogs whine to follow inside, surprisingly Hannibal obliges them. They disappear behind the door.

Alana wonders if they sleep on the bed. Will never let his dogs before, they all had their own bed and he had way too many dogs for them to all fit. But she wonders just how much Will has softened Hannibal. She wonders how Will sleeps at night next to him. Next to a serial murdering cannibal. Perhaps he sleeps soundly because he knows he has the most dangerous monster to watch over him.

Jack speaks, pulling her out of her thoughts, tells Alana he probably won’t sleep tonight, he’ll stay in her room, watch over her. “Just in case,” He says.

She sleeps under the watch of Jack Crawford, his gun on top of the armchair and pointed at the door, and the thought of her family never fearing for her death or their own again.

*

They receive another note the next day.

 _Proof of life,_ it says. The note also details a coming phone call. Along with another picture of Will. This time he’s bloody, from where the injury stems they can’t be sure due to the darkness of the room. 

Hannibal crumbles the photograph, note, envelope, all in his hand. A lock of one of Will’s curls tumbles out of the envelope as it’s being crushed. He reaches down and picks it up. Alana watches him reach into his pocket, pull out a string, tie a bow gingerly around the lock of hair, then it vanishes back into his pocket.

She can’t blame him for wanting a piece of Will to hold onto. If it were Margot, she doesn’t think she could be this eerily calm. Not if the love of her life was clearly in danger. But perhaps it’s the calm before the storm.

And isn't it funny, her comparing herself and Margot to Hannibal and Will? As if she ever thought Hannibal would be capable of such care, of such love and devotion that she’s been witnessing. She knows him not to be a psychopath, knows him technically capable of such things, but she thought he only cared for his whimsies.

She looks over to Jack who, still has his gun in hand, looks pensive.

He looks out of place here with the two of them. Alana has found herself perfectly capable of embracing a darker side of herself. She helped orchestrate Hannibal’s capture by Mason Verger. Then there's Jack who has never been even toed the line. Hannibal is that very side. In every conceivable way, he's the Devil.

But they wait together, seated around the kitchen table, sipping coffee; an FBI agent, a morally flimsy psychiatrist, and a cannibalistic serial killer. It’s like the beginning of a bad joke.

*

The phone rings.

Hannibal is the first to move. He crosses the kitchen, faster than she’s ever seen him move. No deliberate steps. It’s a speed bordering on pure desperation.

He yanks the phone that sticks to the wall off the hook. “Hello,” He says.

She notices the way his face changes as the person on the other side of the line speaks. He shows anger, another thing she’s truly never seen upon his face.

But it’s still contained. There's no outward display, he doesn't once lose control.

“I do not know to what you’re referring. He surely is no one’s but his own.” 

Jack scoffs. She sees Hannibal’s fingers twitch around the phone.

“I see. How does that make you feel?” Alana almost laughs. Hearing Hannibal use general psychiatric tricks is startling, it's below him. He has much better ways of manipulation under his belt.

“Mine and Will’s?”

Hannibal is quiet for a few minutes, then he squeezes the phone in his hand before noisily clamping the phone back onto the hook.

*

Will wakes to a voice. It’s Hannibal’s voice, he’s sure. He hears the timbre of his accent, would recognize it anywhere. Perhaps he’s hallucinating again, to make better of this situation he’s found himself in.

“Will Graham should’ve been mine.” 

_“I do not know to what you are referring. He surely is no one else’s but his own,”_ and there’s Hannibal’s voice again. Will is sure this isn’t a figment of his imagination. Will feels that ache, that pull deep inside him, the one he ignored for years. One he ignored so much so that he even went so far as to marry Molly. Become part of a “normal” family. 

“I killed for him first. Then you came along, piggybacked off of it. Stole the show. He fell for you, but I was there first.” 

It takes Will a few minutes to realize his kidnapper is actually speaking to Hannibal. 

_“I see. How does that make you feel?”_ Will almost snorts, if he wasn’t in so much pain he most likely would’ve.

“Angry. Vengeful. I want blood.”

 _“Mine and Will’s?”_ Hannibal puts himself before Will deliberately. Hannibal does everything for a reason—this reason Will deciphers is that he won’t let anyone spill Will’s blood, they’d have to go through him first.

“Will. You. Jack Crawford. Alana Bloom. Everyone who led to my downfall.” 

Will starts to feel the end of the conversation, begins to struggle against his restraints. He tries to speak but he can’t seem to be able to get the words past his throat. It’s been too long since he last spoke.

“Will was just the easiest to get my hands on. Then you all came running. It’s always poor, poor Will Graham. You should have kept better track of him, Dr. Lecter.”

Will pulls against the restraints again, the man turns towards him this time, noticing him tugging on the ropes. “L-let me talk to him,” Will manages to raspily whisper, he hears the desperation in his voice. It makes him sound weak.

The man closes the phone in his hands shut with a forcible snap.

“You’ve been a naughty boy, Will.”

*

Hannibal recalls the other half of the conversation they weren’t privy to. He tells them the man hung up before letting Hannibal give another response.

“He argues he should have a claim to Will. That since I didn’t kill for him first, that I do not care for him.” She watches his hands wring together, over and over. His hands don’t shake. He betrays no other obvious signs of distress.

“Well by that logic Will would have many suitors,” Jack huffs. Alana bites her tongue. She wishes to say, _you put him out there_ and _he got too close when you promised he wouldn’t_.

Hannibal though, speaks his mind. “You, Jack, are the reason he wasn’t safe in his classroom. Time and time again. If you want to blame anyone, don’t point to me.”

Alana redirects the conversation before it can turn into a fistfight. Hannibal though still has a calm demeanor has fire in his eyes. Jack is visibly upset. “Who would know me though? I wasn’t involved in many cases.”

She worked a few cases alongside Will and Hannibal both. Who would include her in their vengeance? 

“Matthew Brown,” Hannibal speaks the name aloud, they all allow it to soak into the room.

Alana tests the name on her tongue. It makes sense. They stopped him from killing Hannibal, who Will asked him to kill. _If only he hadn't asked me._

Hannibal took the spotlight away as Will’s _admirer_ , killed to get him acquitted. Hannibal is the reason Will was in prison to begin with but he effectively got him released. Killed the judge like some sick love note. Unlike Matthew Brown, who failed to get Will out. _I killed for him first, then you came along. Stole the show._

Jack Crawford shot him and Alana watched. _Everyone who led to my downfall._

Yes, Matthew Brown would have a bone to pick with them all.  
  



	3. that one's lungs breathed for the both,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i know it’s probably not plausible that they let Matthew out. just roll with it :)
> 
> also i wasn't expecting to have this chapter out so soon. i wrote in it a day... i can’t tell if i love or hate the direction it went lol let me know what u think <3

i pity thee who lovest what must perish.

—excerpt by

 **lord byron** , _cain_

_*_

Will wakes this time out of the chair. He’s stood up now, can feel a wooden plank behind his back, his arms are strung up and tied with rope to another piece of wood.

It feels close to crucifixion. All that’s missing is the nails.

But Will knows better, he saw Matthew Brown before he struck him in the head, for the third time. He’s been made a scarecrow. 

He remembers Matthew calling them hawks. The dangerous birds, until attacked by many smaller ones. Now that Matthew has caught him, he made Will into something to scare the onslaught of small birds away.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Matthew stands a few feet away leaning against the wall. He holds a gun in his hand, fiddling idly with it. “You are now something to scare the mobs who attack away.”

His words have a double meaning, Matthew knows he’ll catch on to. He means to frighten Alana, Jack, Hannibal with the sight of him strung up and bleeding—Will’s life in Matthew’s unforgiving hands.

The sight, he knows, won’t deter Hannibal. It’ll just serve to make him angrier, he’s never been one for violence against Will by anyone else’s hand.

Will isn’t scared, can't be. If he was anyone else perhaps he would be. But he’s tangled with the worst of the monsters around. Now that monster is his and would do anything to keep them together.

Will doesn’t indulge Matthew, he’s aware of his design. “Are you going to keep me like this forever?”

Matthew smacks the gun against the wall, then turns on him. He charges forward with obvious anger, the gun shakes in his hand. It isn’t smart of Will to antagonize him, but he’s never been one to hold his tongue. Matthew seethes, “You. Know.” 

Will doesn’t reply, he knows. He’s been aware since seeing Matthew that there's a possibility he might not make it out alive. Matthew wants them all dead. Will’s just the bait who happens to be first in line.

*

Another note comes. There’s no address on the envelope, it must’ve been hand delivered. 

_He asked for you, during our phone call. Now he’s scaring away the birds who swarm._

Lecter tears the paper in two careful pieces. They flutter to the floor. It’s the most emotion Jack’s seen in him. He then plucks out the accompanying photo of Will. Alana peering over Lecter’s shoulder, gasps, her hands flying to her mouth at the sight.

This picture is better lit than the last two have been. Will is strung up, much like Hannibal was when Matthew Brown attempted to kill him. He’s in the same position, but it’s not quite the same effect.

Will is positioned in a way that's made out to be a scarecrow. _Scaring away the birds who swarm._

Jack feels this anger, this fury deep inside him, and immense guilt. That perhaps if he had just been too late to save Lecter. The Chesapeake Ripper would be dead, Will wouldn’t be going through any of this, and maybe if Jack shot Matthew Brown one too many times…

But he’s an officer of the law. There was no evidence against Lecter at the time, no reason to doubt him then. All they had was what was inside Will’s mind.

“We need to find him,” Jack speaks first. Hannibal is still holding the photo of Will, gazing into it like he can save Will by forcibly reaching through and ripping him out of the picture.

“He wants us to come,” Alana warns, she’s watching Hannibal. Gauging to see if he might snap. In all the time Jack has known Lecter, he’s never lost composure.

“We can’t find them anyway if there’s no clue to where he’s holding Will!” Jack snaps at Alana. Now Jack, he loses his composure plenty. He doesn't see the point in holding emotions in. Let them all flow free. “Does he really want us then?” 

Alana rubs the bridge of her nose. She’s exasperated. “He said as much.”

Lecter still hasn’t spoken. He’s still clutching the photograph of Will, tenderly stroking the corner. His thumb moving back and forth, right near Will’s head.

“Then why hasn’t he given us a location? Or even a clue?” Jack is frustrated. Lecter had the nerve to ask for their help and he’s doing nothing. Just standing behind the kitchen counter, staring at an image of Will.

As if it’ll do anything to save him.

Suddenly and without warning Lecter’s head lifts to them. “ ‘ _Next time we commit love, we ought to choose in advance what to kill,’_ ”1 Lecter says. The threat against Matthew’s life is clear, even with his dressed up words. 

Alana looks taken aback by them. Perhaps she hears another meaning. She asks, “Do you know where he is?”

Lecter nods. “He’s created a mirror of the past.”

*

Matthew perks up off the perch he’s assumed. “Ah, they must have gotten my hint.” 

Will doesn’t hear anything, but he once shot his gun near to his ear, in a desperate attempt to save himself. His hearing hasn’t been the same. 

Matthew stalks towards him. Will catches the glint from a knife in his hand. He brandishes it, twirls it around, without cutting himself. It’s almost impressive.

“Time to let your better half see you all tied up, bloody, and pretty.” Will swallows. He mustn’t let Matthew see him affected by the very thought of Hannibal being nearby. He already saw Will weak and begging to talk to him, he needs to regain his composure.

It’s what Hannibal would do. Feign indifference. He schools his face into a careful mask.

“Oh, trouble in paradise?” 

“I don’t think of him that way.” Will hopes to some God out there, if there is one, that Hannibal cannot hear him. That if he does, he can hear the lie.

Matthew laughs darkly. “See, I just don’t believe you.” He steps closer until he is almost pressed up against Will’s front. His mouth is nearing Will’s own. He holds his breath, prepares for the knife. Instead Matthew leans in, his breath hitting the shell of his ear and whispers, “You wanted to kill him more than anything. That’s what love is.”2

Will stops holding his breath stupidly thinking that was all Matthew wanted from the close proximity. But as soon as he breathes out, Matthew digs the knife across his outstretched forearm, slicing it open. Will closes his eyes, clenches his teeth together. 

He can hear Hannibal’s voice telling him, _You can make it all go away._ But that is another lifetime, another Will. This Will might face death today.

Matthew carves into his other arm, Will can feel the blood dripping down his arms, to his fingertips, where it then hits the floor. Will manages to hold back a scream. 

“Your pain tolerance must be high. Is it because of him?”

Will opens his eyes. He wants to refute that, tell Matthew that Hannibal awakened a becoming in him. One Will didn't want to embrace. That neither of them came out of their chase unscathed. They mutually hurt one another, up until the fall. Will doesn’t fault Hannibal for it, anymore than Hannibal faults Will. They’ve forgiven each other. 

He only now understands how to make his pain seem irrelevant. He forces all thought of it out of his mind. He sees Hannibal standing in front of him, stroking his cheek, telling him all will be alright.

“Wonder what’s taking them so long… Though, it gives me more time to make you hurt.”

*

Hannibal smells his atrocious aftershave first. The scent lingers in the space. Will still hasn’t gotten rid of it, even in spite of Hannibal’s insistence on another. He even went so far as to buy something much more pleasing, leaving the bottles laying around their bedroom. Will didn’t take to the gesture; he refuses to wear it due to the price tag that came with it. 

Will’s need for simplicity is something Hannibal cherishes. Especially now, he knows Will isn’t too far from his reach.

He takes further steps into the basement and he’s hit with the smell, the metallic, coppery odor of blood. He almost barges right then and there through the closed door, where Will is surely being held, but he keeps his steps even. 

He’s standing in the basement of the Algodon Mansion, it’s right below their pool. Sometime ago he wished at one point to take Will, let him truly let his limbs loosen, relax. 

Hannibal should’ve realized sooner that’s where Will is being kept. They pass it every day on their way into town. Hannibal has even stopped there to ask about prices on rooms (not that it matters to him). It’s a perfect place, Matthew Brown must have gotten a job here. Close enough to watch them but far enough away that Hannibal wouldn’t feel eyes on him. 

He feels tainted now, this whole place does. The wishing feels like a distant memory. Will and he will have to leave this place behind.

He turns to Alana and Jack who are lingering behind him. “Course of action?”

Jack still has that dastardly gun in his hand. He shakes his head, unsure. Alana looks at Hannibal; she simply nods at him, her words from Muskrat Farm echo in his head.

_You’re the only one who can save him._

Normally he’d have a plan, he despises not having a strategy. But it’s Will behind that door. Will who’s hurting, suffering, _bleeding_. Hannibal turns the knob, steps through the door. 

*

“There they are,” Matthew says, his voice is full of amazement. Will senses from him that he cannot wait to carve into them all. He steps up behind Will and presses the knife to the hollow of his throat.

Will doesn’t move, just stares ahead at the door. Hannibal comes through it first. Then Alana, then Jack. Who immediately raises his gun in Matthew’s direction. 

Matthew tuts at him. “Tch, tch, Agent Crawford,” He wags his finger like he’s reprimanding a child. ”I’d be very careful if I were you or Will’s pretty throat,” he taps that wagging finger now against Will’s pulse point, “is cut.”

Will tries not to think about the two times he’s seen a throat cut. How both times were Abigail.

Will rather to direct his focus away from all of it, looks to Hannibal.

Hannibal is staring right back at him. Brown eyes meeting Will’s gray. His demeanor betrays nothing. If Will didn’t know any better, didn’t know him, Will would think Hannibal to be unaffected.

But there’s a fire in his eyes. That fire Will recognizes, it’s almost the same look Hannibal gave him before driving a knife into his stomach. 

Will won’t be receiving the knife this time. But the knife will be for Will, in a way.

“Put the gun down, Agent. Slide it across the floor to me.” Will can guess Jack’s reaction, defiance in his posture, but ultimately he’ll give the gun up.

Will hears the sliding of the gun across the floor. Though, he doesn’t stop watching Hannibal to confirm.

“Now,” Matthew spits out. He digs his free hand into Will’s throat, squeezing. “Hannibal Lecter. What is it about him?”

Will belatedly realizes that Matthew is actually asking him. If he seeks an answer, it probably won’t be the one Will has.

“He sees me,” Will says in a grating voice, his throat sore.

*

Hannibal infers Will’s answer before he says it.

“He sees me,” Will says shakily and yes, that was the answer Hannibal expected. Will never once strays his eyes from Hannibal. His sense of smell is overwhelmed by the blood. He makes an effort not to think or look at all the places Will has been cut.

Matthew doesn’t like this answer. He tightens his grip around Will’s throat, squeezing harder. Will makes a distinct choking sound. Alana begs, “Stop. You’re killing him.”

Matthew tilts his head in her direction. “That’s kind of the whole point.” 

Alana is openly crying. Tears falling down her cheeks, she must see a version of the Will Graham she knew strung up. Helpless, defenseless.

“How did you escape?” Jack asks. 

“I didn’t actually.” Jack gives a sound of disbelief. “I was let out. Good behavior and too many people, or something.” 

Alana retorts, braver now, “Good behavior? You killed someone and attempted to kill another person.” 

Matthew steps back from Will, upset at some insinuation Alana is making. In this process the knife falls from Will’s throat. Matthew’s hand and the knife rest on his chest. It’s a safer spot. “Well maybe you should’ve let me follow through on the attempt,” he points to Hannibal with the knife. “We wouldn’t all be here right now.”

Hannibal sees his opening. Alana is distracting Matthew for him. She’s essentially getting him to start a monologue like all the horrible villains on TV do.

He slowly reaches into his jacket, finds the knife he hid there. He pulls it out and promptly throws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. from margaret atwood’s political power 
> 
> 2\. almost a direct quote from yves olade’s rome falls


End file.
